


The Comforts of Home

by Raven_Knight



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Food, M/M, Old Married Spirk Challenge, Romance, Touch of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Knight/pseuds/Raven_Knight
Summary: Kirk is left alone in their apartment while Spock is away with cadets on a training mission. Kirk misses his husband.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 Old Married Spirk Challenge. Just like last year, I finished this right at the last minute. Thank you to plaidshirtjimkirk for running and organizing the challenge so there is more OMS fic and art and music playlists out there for everyone to enjoy. THe fandom really needs more and more Old Married Spirk out there. Enjoy my contribution to this year's OMS Challenge. ~ RK
> 
> For this fic, Generations did not happen - and will not happen. Thank you.

Emotionally speaking, Admiral James T. Kirk had long since passed the stage of anxiously looking forward to his husband’s return. Captain Spock had departed with a group of soon-to-graduate cadets in a brief training mission three days ago. Kirk looked at the chronometer on his desk. _Four days ago_ , he corrected himself. _Not three._ He’d slept alone for three nights, and that was three nights too many in his opinion. _Two to go,_ he lamented in his mind, morosely.

Two more nights of a large bed and only himself occupying it. Two more nights of not hearing Spock quietly remark that he was cold, despite the thick comforter, two blankets, and heavy quilt on top of them in bed. Kirk shook his head. He never thought he’d miss Spock’s fussing about the supposed chill in their apartment until those complaints were as absent as his husband’s presence from their home. Kirk slept completely in the nude every night because under all that bedding, he felt like a roast cooking for hours until quite tender. Spock, typically slept in a full set of pajamas. He started sweating just looking at Spock when he pulled the sheets back and slid into their bed fully clothed. Kirk had no idea how Spock could stand it.

It didn’t matter. When he came back, Kirk would gladly listen to as many complaints that Spock voiced about the cold apartment with a smile on his Human face. He’d just be glad his husband was finally back home. He’d gladly snuggle himself up to Spock’s pajama-hidden body, even though he’d much rather him naked, because having Spock back in their bed would be better than the cold sheet in his place or snuggling his husband’s pillow.

He sighed. Kirk had distracted himself with enough paperwork and conference calls and meetings to take up two days worth of work. He was tired, and lonely, and just wanted to go home so that it would be one day closer for his reunion with his husband. With a huff, he decided to end his day a little earlier than usual and leave his desk for the empty apartment. He’d done more than enough work in one day anyway.

It took slightly longer for him to reach home, since he chose to walk which really turned into a leisurely stroll. Once he entered the apartment, the dry heat of the place hit him in full contrast to the cool outdoors from which he’d just come. Before the door had even finished closing, Kirk yanked off his red command jacket and tossed it with practiced precision over the back of the reclining chair in front of the fireplace. He didn’t dare toss it on Spock’s, even with him away. He’d somehow _know_ Kirk had disrupted his seat. He always knew.

He went right into their kitchen and quickly filled a pot with water and set it on the heat source. He felt like some pasta. Some cavatappi noodles with pesto and diced tomatoes. He smiled to himself as his mouth began to water at his dinner decision. Kirk always appreciated good food, had an irrational fondness for Italian varieties, and, frankly, enjoyed cooking. Between the two of them, Kirk knew he was the better cook. Spock tried his best when Kirk had a late evening at Starfleet, and he appreciated his Vulcan’s efforts and care, but they both knew that Kirk’s meals were delicious, taste-bud perfection. The only problem he had when Spock was away was making too much food for dinner. Being so accustomed to cooking for two, Kirk found it difficult to break the habit and cook only enough for himself. _At least Spock had some leftovers when he came back._

Having shed the clothing of command and changed into the simpler clothes of an evening in, flannel sleep-pants and a plain black t-shirt, Kirk made his way back to the kitchen and prepared his far-too-abundant dinner. He could almost hear Spock’s voice in his head _._ Kirk’s favorite times were when Spock knew the dish by scent alone. _Are you preparing pesto again, Jim?_ He smiled to himself as he turned on the old-fashioned food processor. He answered in his head.

_Yes._

_Did we not consume this meal only five days previous?_ Kirk recognized the subtle teasing in his husband’s voice.

_Shut up, Sweetheart. You like it as much as I do._

Spock would allow himself to smile at the endearment. _Indeed._ Kirk smiled to himself, knowing that he would be fighting an uphill battle if he even tried to make only enough for himself.

Eating it alone involved a whole different battle. He’d gotten so accustomed to eating meals with Spock – they’ve been doing so since the first five year mission, after all – and cooking for two that the resultant silence in the apartment when Spock wasn’t there stifled him. Even at their least conversational, just having Spock there, home, felt infinitely less isolating than being without him. They would usually drag out dinner with either quiet, intense gazes or with intense conversation, sometimes a mixture of the two. Without Spock, Kirk tended to rush through his meal, having nothing much to distract him from the simple and necessary task of eating his dinner. He finished in record time in Spock’s absence, and he never liked the feeling.

He cleaned up his efforts either in silence or humming a slow melody to himself. Usually a very old song, something along the mellow jazz style, to keep him in a calm, relaxed rhythm as he slowly got into the routine of winding down his day. One day closer to his husband coming home. That kind of persuasive talk made Kirk convince himself that evenings were his favorite time of day when Spock commanded a training assignment.

For the first time in all of Spock’s missions without him, Kirk figured out a way to cope with his husband’s absence a little better. He couldn’t believe it took him this long to come up with the idea. _Probably because it’s revolting,_ he reminded himself. It wasn’t his best idea but it worked well enough to soothe his anxiety and loneliness. He picked up the small pot from the stove, poured the hot liquid into a fresh mug, and sprinkled a pinch of ground cinnamon onto the froth before deciding it was ready to drink. He’d become something of an expert in preparing this particular beverage for Spock. The Vulcan preferred to drink it every night before they retired to bed.

Kirk, however, absolutely hated this drink. He felt it tasted like dirt sprinkled in hot water and calling it tea. In fact, he once said almost as much to Spock the first time his husband made it in their home.

 

 _“What_ is _that, Spock?” Kirk asked, coming close to the stove. “Why is it that awful yellow color?”_

_Spock continued to unhurriedly whisk the liquid and did not look at his mate. “It contains turmeric, which, as you are well aware—”_

_“Colors food yellow,” they both finished._

_“Yes, I know,” Kirk mumbled, leaning further over the tiny pot in containing the turmeric-influenced liquid in question. “But what the hell are you making?”_

_Spock did not exactly sigh. “It is a turmeric latté.”_

_Kirk shot a disbelieving glance at his husband. “That’s an outright lie, Spock!”_

_“It is not.”_

_“You don’t drink lattés, and I happen to know this because you don’t drink coffee because you think it’s disgusting.”_

_Spock shook his head. “I believe the word I chose was putrid.”_

_Kirk plowed on as though Spock didn’t correct him. “And if you don’t drink coffee, then you certainly don’t drink espresso. So, really, Spock,_ what is that?”

_“It is a turmeric latté,” Spock restated stubbornly._

_Kirk frowned. He flirted with the idea of patiently explaining that this so-called latté couldn’t possibly be truly a latté without espresso, but he didn’t have the energy. Instead, he decided not to argue. “What else is in it?”_

_He listened as Spock explained the precise method of the drink’s preparation as he continued to whisk. When Spock finished his verbose tutorial, Kirk had only one question. “Who taught you how to make this?”_

_Spock plucked two mugs from the shelf and poured the hot liquid into the cups, with the majority of it in the vessel closest to himself, and a sample amount in the mug on the left. “My mother often prepared it for me when I was a child. It comforted me on the rare occasions during which I fell ill. My mother also informed me that it is beneficial to my immune system. From that knowledge, I determined that I should consume it regularly to avoid becoming ill in the first place.”_

_Kirk accepted the barely-filled cup. “Far be it from me to contest the wisdom of the Lady Amanda.”_

_“That is a sensible decision.” Spock took a long, slow sip from his mug, his eyes never leaving his mate._

_Kirk swirled the turmeric sludge in his cup, lifted it halfway to his mouth, then blurted, “Is that why you’re never sick that much?”_

_Spock sighed and tried to contain a frown. “Jim, please drink it.”_

_“I’m serious. Is_ this _why you aren’t sick as much as me?”_

_“Jim,” Spock growled over the lip of his mug. “Drink.”_

_“Fine,” Kirk grumbled. “Was only asking.” He sipped the golden yellow liquid, and promptly grimaced. Spock failed to contain his disappointment at Kirk’s dislike of the drink. “It tastes like dirt, Spock. Or mud that’s been heavily watered down and heated.”_

_Spock bristled. “I feel similarly about your coffee.” With that, Spock walked away and claimed one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. Clearly, he decided to sulk over this._

_Spock’s attitude wouldn’t make Kirk change his mind about the drink. He thought it tasted like dirt._

Kirk _still_ thought it tasted like dirt. Yet there he sat in his reclining chair in front of the crackling fireplace, holding a warm mug containing a freshly whisked and frothy turmeric latté. It wasn’t about the flavor of the drink, though, and he knew it.

It was about the aroma of it. While he hated the taste, Kirk found the scent pleasant, earthy and spicy all at once, which he had associated with Spock even before his husband started drinking this concoction daily.

Spock drank this sludge every night, and by making it when his husband was away, it felt like Spock wasn’t out in space without him but right there in their apartment enjoying the last few hours of the day while they quietly kept each other company. Simply put, Kirk didn’t feel so alone this way.

His eyes had started drooping in relaxation and tiredness, his body telling him that the time had come to power down the atmosphere of his living space and go to bed. He stood, tinkered around with tidying up imaginary messes for a few minutes before admitting defeat to his body’s demand for rest. He turned off everything that needed turning off, picked up the cooling mug of his husband’s disgusting drink, and, with a heavy sigh, Kirk shuffled his way towards the bedroom which he would occupy alone for yet another night.

 

~~~~~

 

Times like this, he appreciated his mate’s insistence of installing old-fashioned entranceways to their apartment. While he still maintained that the antiquated method put their personal safety at risk, he could still acknowledge that it allowed for each of them, on occasion, to surprise the other upon their arrival home. Such was Spock’s current goal.

He keyed open the door and pushed it gently on its well-oiled hinges, silently admitting him entrance. Had they gone with the modern style, the pleasant chime and hiss of the door may have easily awakened his mate, who had always been a light sleeper, and ruin Spock’s intentions completely. With silent stealth, Spock slid his key into his uniform jacket pocket before removing it so that he could drape it over his chosen reclining chair in front of their fireplace. It made no sound on that chair. Spock continued to strip himself of his uniform, and shed the burden of instructor and the responsibility of captain along with it.

Slowly, so as to keep his arrival undetectable, he made his way unclothed to the fresher for his sleep robe. He often wore it to bed, initially to keep warm, but early in his relationship with Jim, Spock discovered that he took great enjoyment in his lover sneaking his hands beneath the dark folds of the fabric to touch his chillier skin, until ultimately Jim would part the robe and replace the heat the luxurious fabric provided with his warm, Human body.  More often than not, this would lead to gentle yet extremely passionate lovemaking between them, Spock’s body and clothing spread open beneath Jim, and Jim leaving no place untouched by his passion as he moved above and inside him. If he felt particularly playful, Jim would deliberately trap Spock’s arms in the sleeves of his robe and hold him down, making him feel every touch Jim gave to him, while refusing to permit reciprocation until long after Spock lay trembling from the overwhelming physical, emotional, mental, and telepathic experience while cradling Jim’s spent body as their breathing heaved and they sought peace in each other’s arms. Yes, Spock preferred to wear his sleep robe to bed for more pleasant reasons than sleeping.

He slipped the robe on, a faint smile playing at his lips. Spock went into their bedroom and stopped at the sight before him.

His mate lay mostly on his front tangled in the sheet, his limbs everywhere as though searching for contact he couldn’t achieve. His right arm was stretched so that his hand rested gently on the otherwise unused pillow, Spock’s pillow. A pajama set had been carefully draped over the headboard above Spock’s side of the bed. Spock suppressed a sigh. He had no fondness for that particular set of sleepwear. Doctor McCoy had given them to Spock as, what he had referred to as, a gag-gift. The matching shirt and pants set were emblazoned with cartoon-style sehlats. Spock did not find the gift particularly funny. Jim, however, had laughed until tears spilled from his eyes. He didn’t stop pestering Spock until he had tried them on. Spock very rarely wore them. Besides, he much preferred the sleep robe he currently wore to the silly sehlat pajamas.

Spock soundlessly walked to his side of the bed, intending to join his mate, but something on the bedside table caught his attention. It was a mug, the liquid inside only half consumed. Spock bent closer to it in the reduced lighting of the bedroom and inhaled quietly. Re recognized the scent immediately. His nightly turmeric latté. Confusion struck him in the next moment. _Why had Jim made it?_ he wondered. _He detests this beverage._ Spock pinched the stem of the spoon that dipped into the latté and delicately stirred the liquid. The spices did tend to settle after a period of time. Unable to resist, he lifted the spoon and tasted the drink. _He had blended perfectly._

He glanced at his mate’s sleeping form only to see Jim blinking as he wrestled between the choice of falling back to sleep or struggling to consciousness. “Spock?” he croaked with his still resting vocal cords. “S’at you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, my mate.”

Jim lightly moaned as his body stretched awake lazily. He kept trying to blink the sleep from his vision, only barely having success. He buried his face into his pillow to hide a yawn. Spock’s attention did not focus there but instead fixed upon Jim’s right hand crawling its way across Spock’s pillow, occasionally lifting his fingers in a somewhat embarrassing reach for his husband. Spock allowed himself to grin at the endearing sight as he met Jim’s seeking fingers with his extended index and middle fingers in a Vulcan kiss, their customary greeting when he returned home from a mission. “I am home.”

Jim turned his head to face him, his eyes a bit more alert and present. “I heard you just now.” _The spoon must have been enough to wake him as I stirred._ Spock carefully replaced the utensil in the mug and lowered himself to perch on the edge of his side of the bed without breaking the ozh’esta. “I thought you had another day away.” Jim snorted. “Not complaining, though.”

“I wished to return home. As commanding officer, the choice to order it rested with me.” Jim smiled at him. “I did long for my mate, after all.” With his free hand, Spock picked up the mug and took a sip from the long cold drink.

As though a red alert had sounded, Jim shot up to a seated position, reaching for the mug. “I’ll make you a fresh one.”

Spock held the mug out of Jim’s reach. “No,” he said, gently pushing his mate back into the warmth of the bed. “I will attend to it.” He stood and quietly left the bedroom, taking the mug with him. He quickly drank the rest of the cold drink and deposited the mug into the automated dish washer, but did not start it. Jim insisted that it made too much noise for his light sleeping and for Spock’s keen Vulcan hearing. They had agreed therefore to typically run its cycle during their breakfast. His mission there complete, Spock went back to the bedroom.

Jim waited for him. He’d swung his legs over Spock’s side of the bed and sat up like he hadn’t yet decided if he should or shouldn’t follow Spock before Spock had already returned. He offered a smile to his Vulcan husband. Spock went directly to his mate and stood before him. Jim looked up to meet his eyes, and, without breaking that contact, slid his fingers over the soft fabric of Spock’s robe to stop at his husband’s lower ribcage. “Come to me, Spock,” he asked.

As Spock stepped closer to him, Jim spread his legs to make room for him. Jim sighed through his nose in pleasure. “Missed you,” he said. A moment later, he slid his hands around Spock’s back until they pressed against his spine to pull him closer still. Jim leaned forward and turned his head to place his ear against Spock’s lower right side. “It gets longer every time.”

Spock ran his fingers through his mate’s hair, enjoying the sensation just as much as Jim seemed to be enjoying listening to his heartbeat. “It seemed longer,” he agreed. “It is pleasing to be home.”

Jim brought his right hand back between them and slid it skillfully between the overlapping folds of Spock’s robe, deftly shoving some of it aside to expose a hint of his husband’s skin. He wasted no time and explored the familiar territory with his lips. “ _You_ are home, Spock.” Jim made short work of the robe’s fastenings, and exhaled in satisfaction when the fabric draped open. He stroked Spock’s revealed skin, repeating the journey his hands made minutes ago and pulled Spock closer by pressing against his back. “You, Spock,” he repeated. “You _are_ home.” Jim peppered kisses everywhere he could reach on his husband’s abdomen and chest. “Missed this.”

“As did I.” Spock permitted himself to simply enjoy the attention his mate gave him until a pressing concern came to mind. “Jim,” Spock whispered, his hands still tangled in his mate’s hair.

“Hmm?” he murmured as he continued kissing Spock’s body.

“Why did you make it?”

“What?” Jim looked up at him in complete confusion.

“The drink,” Spock clarified. Jim stared at him for a moment, then began to laugh deep in his throat. He rested his forehead against Spock’s sternum and continued laughing. “I fail to find the question humorous.” That only made Jim laugh louder.

“Really, Spock?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Jim could not stop himself from laughing. “Shut up and get in bed.”

Jim got his legs back onto their bed and slid over to his side. Spock followed him, eager to syphon his mate’s body heat once more. Kirk obligingly turned onto his back so that Spock could claim his favorite sleeping position curled against Jim’s side, his head nestled in the slight dip at Jim’s shoulder, and his hand resting lightly over his mate’s chest. With their years of practice, they settled quickly. Jim covered his husband’s hand with his own, lightly stroking the familiar fingers. “I made it because it reminds me of you,” he finally answered. “I don’t feel so alone when you’re away if I make it.”

Spock nuzzled closer. “I understand.”

Jim craned his neck to look at him. “Do you?”

Spock nodded against Jim’s body. “While I am commanding my training missions, I prepare a cup of coffee every morning for myself which I take with me to alpha shift supervision.”

Jim couldn’t prevent the sound of disbelief. “You hate coffee, sweetheart.”

“Just as you dislike turmeric lattés, Jim,” Spock countered instantly. “And, like you, I find comfort from consuming coffee, despite its unappealing taste because it curbs my longing for my mate.”

Jim smiled, then kissed his husband’s silky hair, then tightened his arm around Spock, holding him close. “I bet your cadets thought you’d lost your logical mind.”

Spock smiled into Jim’s shoulder. “Indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. Now go try a turmeric latte and see if you agree with Spock that it's delicious or with Jim that it tastes like dirt. I actually like them quite a bit. ~ RK


End file.
